


A (Valentine's) Day in the Life of Tifa

by Tyramir



Series: A Day in the Life of... [9]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Just Add Ninjas, Slice of Life, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 23:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3359039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyramir/pseuds/Tyramir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beset by mystery helpers and constant nagging by the Turks to take up a mysterious job, Tifa must also battle difficulties at home and in her relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> AH! I'm doing it again! I keep promising to never do this again, and then I go ahead and do it anyway! Last time, I promise!
> 
> This is another chapter in the 'Day in the Life...' series, but once more, you don't have to read any of the other parts to appreciate this one (although, it is still encouraged).  
> Also, just to prove that I can, I have decided to include Compilation canon. This takes place, let’s say, one year after Dirge of Cerberus, but before Lullaby of Bobo-the-Two-Headed-Emo-Dog. 
> 
> I wanted to do a Valentine’s Day story, but at the same time, there isn’t actually a Valentine’s Day in the world of FF7. So, it’s a Valentine’s story, but it isn’t actually Valentine’s Day.

8:00 AM

The alarm woke Tifa rudely with its incessant buzzing. She was tempted to try to wait it out, throw a pillow over her head, and shut the noise away and get just a little bit more sleep. Her head ached a little in what was not quite a hangover, but just the remnants of working late every night in a bar that used a little too many fluorescent lights, played music a little too loudly, and encouraged her to share drinks with her customers. 

Sure, Seventh Heaven was hers, fully and completely, but when she’d built it from the ground up, she’d had a perfect vision of what it should look like, what it should sound like, and now that it was there, and it wasn’t exactly as she’d imagined it to be, it almost felt too late to course correct and make the changes necessary to perfect it. There just weren’t enough hours in the day, as the blaring alarm make sure to tell her as loudly as it possibly could.

Poking her head out from under the safety of her pillow and blankets, she found that Cloud, as usual, was nowhere to be found. She hadn’t heard him come in last night, but that was normal. His delivery service seemed to run in increasingly larger circles around the world, with one package even demanding he go to Wutai once. How he managed that on his motorcycle, Tifa hadn’t been sure, and Cloud rarely volunteered stories about his day.

Something about his absence bothered her, today more so than usual, though she couldn’t remember why. There was something important she was forgetting, or something someone else might consider important, an idea nagging at the back of her mind.

Sounds not related to bothersome, hateful alarm clocks disturbed her train of thought. Somewhere on the first floor, Tifa heard the scrape of a chair on hard wood floor. Marlene was likely up and about, trying to keep quiet while making herself breakfast. Or maybe Denzel. If either were left to their own devices, it’d be nothing but Shinra Sugar Shakes and McChocobo’s mystery wraps from across the street, and somehow the kitchen would still end up a disaster zone. 

Sighing softly, Tifa extricated herself from the haven of her blankets, and shouted downstairs, “Give me a minute, monsters! I’m just getting dressed!”

There was a pregnant pause below, a void of silence where she knew noise was supposed to go. She shrugged in response, even though no one could see her do it, and then awkwardly tried to make the shrug into a warm-up exercise by turning it into a shoulder roll. She felt kind of silly, but kept at it anyway, figuring she was committed to it now. She blamed lack of sleep. Four nights in a row of less than four hours, waking up early to get the kids fed and ready for school, taking calls for Cloud’s delivery service throughout the day, maintaining the house and bar during the afternoon, then running it through the evening, serving drinks and tending bar until close. She’d honestly felt less tired travelling through the wilderness, chasing after Sephiroth while fleeing Shinra.

She briefly entertained the idea of a shower, but it was a little too quiet downstairs. Normally, the monsters were running around and making noise by now. Silence meant they were up to trouble. Hurriedly throwing on a fluffy robe, she made her way down to the ground floor as quickly as she could manage. Not quite at a panic speed, just short of a run. She didn’t want to let them know they had her worried. Any sign of weakness, and they’d attack.

Emerging into the bar proper, she was a little startled at what she found. Denzel, barely eking into his teenaged years, had still yet to hit a serious growth spurt, was sitting straight up and poring over text books in an uncharacteristic stab at scholarship. Marlene, dutiful as ever, was sweeping the floor of the bar, but was making a pointed effort of not facing in a certain direction. Tifa’s attention snapped immediately to where Marlene was attempting to ignore, and her eyes narrowed.

Seated at the bar yet facing in her direction, stiff-backed and straight, was Rude. As always, he wore his Turk blue, sunglasses which concealed his unknowable eyes, and looked every inch the professional killer that he was. There was always a tenseness to him, a sense of a lion who was stretched and prepared, ready to pounce, but never quite doing it. Every movement he made was calculated, every thought assessed, every action planned out beforehand. There was a control, a sense of implacability to Rude, and a strength to back it up.

Rude being in Seventh Heaven wasn’t unusual. She tolerated his presence, if only barely, though he usually had the decency to only make an appearance during business hours. But today, he wasn’t alone.

Seated to either side of him were his comrades-in-arms, Elena and Tseng. Both had feline tendencies similar to Rude’s own, but they were very different. While Rude was a predator about to strike, Tseng embodied the pride of the lion, the beast that knew it could take you down if it chose, but such a thing was beneath him. He ruled the savannah, and while he surveyed his domain and acknowledged any possible threats to it, always vigilant, he was dismissive of anything he deemed unimportant.

Elena, as always, was more a cub than a full grown cat. Though she’d been a Turk for several years, her over-exuberance and need to prove herself did more harm than good. But she still had claws, and as always, Tifa made sure to not dismiss her out of hand. 

What were the three of them—

Reno rose from behind the bar, a bottle of expensive sake in either hand and a grin plastered on his face. Unlike the others, who were bedecked in their usual costume, Reno was wearing… a maroon cape, along with an elaborate headband of the same colour. One of his hands was sporting a golden gauntlet, while the other wore a fingerless black glove. 

Any threat or order for them to get out of her bar, that it was too early for whatever this happened to be, was lost as she instead blurted, “Why are you dressed as Vincent?”

Reno grinned, his eyes sparkling, and opened his mouth as if to regale her with one of his bullshit fantastical stories, but Elena stood and gently slapped him upside the head and glared. 

Whatever he’d been about to say was lost in a bout of sulkiness, and instead he answered, “Because I thought it’d be funny?”

She mulled over that answer, trying to decide what it was they were hiding, and decided that she didn’t need to figure it out. It was too early for this, she wasn’t properly dressed, and if she didn’t put her foot down, Reno would inevitably make a joke about her fluffy robe, which she loved dearly.

“Out,” she said, pointing to the door. “House rules, no Turks allowed.”

“Rude drinks here all the time!” Reno protested. 

“And when he does, he’s a paying customer during business hours, and not a Turk. Out!”

She didn’t bother mentioning that the bar didn’t do the business that it used to, fresh off the popularity and fame of Avalanche post-Meteor, even post-Remnants, and having a regular, even one she disapproved of, helped the place stay afloat. Too much time had gone by, and the general population was beginning to adopt a ‘what have you done for us lately?’ attitude. All the old resentments from when Avalanche had blown up reactors and threatened their jobs had begun to creep up again among those who even bothered to remember who they were.

Reno looked forlornly at the two bottles of sake and then placed them gently on the counter. He made a mock sniff, and then waved goodbye to them even as Elena grabbed him by his cape and hauled him over, roughly, but not so recklessly as to knock the bottles. Rude was already standing, and made a single nod of his head to Tifa, and made his way to the front door.

Tseng stopped briefly by her, and handed her a card. She glanced at it. It only had a phone number, no name, no identifying logos. Plain white paper with plain black text, no embellishments to be found. 

“We are in the market for an outside contractor,” he said.

“Thug power!” Reno called, and then yelped as Elena switched her grip from his cape to his ear.

“I’m not interested,” Tifa countered. “I have a job, and my day’s pretty full.”

“And I’m not offering you full time employment. The Turks wouldn’t suit your temperament, I think. You’re too… passionate. We have a small window, and I’d rather it be someone of your skills and restraint. This is a delicate mission, and I’m afraid I don’t have the qualified manpower to do without third party assistance. It pays extremely well, and I’m aware that your business has been—” 

“My business,” she said, her tone clipped, “is none of yours.”

He nodded respectfully, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked to the door. Before exiting, he paused, and said over his shoulder, “Should you change your mind, you need only contact me before noon today. Any later, and you will have no way of reaching either myself or my fellow Turks, as we will be radio silent at that point.”

Something about his tone made her feel a little small, as if he were doing her a favour for offering her this, but Tseng didn’t have the monopoly on pride. 

Tifa Lockhart did not take handouts, especially from Shinra.

She felt her body stiffen, and her fists clench. She didn’t hate the Turks, not exactly, and a lot of the old enmity for Shinra had long since died away. There was no point in continuing a war that her side had won. Still, there was no reason to help a side that, while attempting to reform, was still soaked in the blood of her family, friends and neighbours. 

She played piano music in her head, washing away the emotion. Zangan had always tried to teach her balance of mind, emptiness of thought and emotion, but it had never really clicked. But the piano, that made sense to her. Playing a song in her mind, she soothed herself, calming away the righteous anger and reminding herself that she was angry at an older Shinra, and not what it was now.

She twirled the card anxiously between her fingers, flipping it end over end. She wanted to throw it away, right into Tseng’s face. Or, well, his back. The point would stand. What would Cloud do?

Probably brood a little, find something to feel guilty about, and then shut those nearest to him out. He was getting better since the situation with the Remnants, but Cloud at his most social and responsible still left… something to be desired.

Her moment passed, and Tseng left out the doorway, and she felt a little annoyed. She settled for slamming the door behind him. Outside, she heard Reno yell something about it being too early, and needing to get his pancake fix.

Sighing, Tifa put the card in a pocket, and turned to face Denzel and Marlene. 

“Okay, monsters,” she said in a cheerful voice, as if nothing were amiss. “What do you want for breakfast?”

 

9:23 AM

 

Breakfast, despite the votes put forth, was not a diabetic mess but instead oatmeal with blueberries and apple bits, since Marlene’s new obsession with vegetarianism now excluded yogurt and eggs. Denzel, as usual, rolled his eyes at what was offered, mumbling about missing bacon. Designing a happy face along the top of the meal with blueberries only seemed to make him surlier. 

After they were fed, Tifa made sure they went to school, then took their dishes and deposited them in the kitchen sink. She wasn’t sure where she’d find the time to clean them, but made sure to quickly run water over them before running upstairs for a shower.

The water from that wasn’t particularly hot, but the old oil furnace hadn’t gone out entirely yet. Somewhere, she’d need to find the money to replace it – Cid’s passing attempts to repair it several times over his last few visits may have done more harm than good – but she wasn’t sure where it’d fit into the budget. 

When she stepped out, she went to get changed, and in dismay, realized she’d made the biggest laundry mistake of all. She’d entrusted the duty to Cloud.

All of the clothes in her active rotation were dirty. Not just dirty, but were buried and intermixed with Cloud’s dirty clothes, which were spotted with mud, blood, monster goop, and from the soft green glow on one of his pairs of pants, Mako. 

She loved that man, but sometimes, sometimes…

Time to deal with that problem later, whenever she saw him next. If she saw him again. She always had to worry about that.

Going through an old trunk, she pulled out an old outfit. Midriff-baring, sleeveless top. Short, black mini-skirt. Elbow length gloves. Suspenders. Her old boots would be in a closet somewhere. She still had the new shoes – she didn’t think Cloud had gone out of his way to unintentionally contaminate and poison those – but nostalgia made her want to dig out the old ones. Looking at the outfit now, she wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking of, back in the day. Still, it felt right for some reason. 

She towelled off, donned the old outfit – no, uniform – and went downstairs. The kids might be able to subsist on oatmeal and blueberries, but Tifa needed some bacon, and she could only cook it when Marlene wasn’t around. 

She took the first two steps down slowly, but the smell of grease hit her nostrils, and her legs suddenly couldn’t get down the rest of them quickly enough. Someone had been cooking in her kitchen, probably while she was in the shower, and that meant Cloud was home.

Emerging back into the bar, she found a table prepared with cutlery, a plate of bacon, hash browns, pancakes, eggs and toast. It was entirely too neatly prepared. More, there was a glass vase she didn’t recognize set in the middle of the table with a single red rose.

Cloud didn’t do flowers. They hit one of his many neuroses, reminding him of her. He was mostly over it, but every once in a while, his own self-doubt would creep back in again, and he’d need to be assured all over again.

Tifa both loved and missed Aeris, and knew it wasn’t a competition, but sometimes, she wondered if Cloud knew that.

Looking over the plate, she saw that none of the food was burned or undercooked – another red flag – but Tifa was never one to turn down free protein, even fatty and disgustingly unhealthy protein. Maybe even especially that kind. She’d have to do so many crunches later. Picking up a slice of bacon, she bit into it and explored the ground floor.

“Cloud?” she called. “Are you home?”

She leaned her head into the kitchen, and saw that someone had done the dishes – a mean feat, considering that the water heater despised competition, and would only give heat to one source or the other at the same time. On the dish rack was a pot, one she hadn’t dirtied herself, in addition to the dishes necessary to make the breakfast on the table. Had someone boiled water and then used that to wash the dishes?

“Cloud?” she called again, louder.

She checked the voice mail messages in the next room, and found none waiting for her. Another oddity. Someone usually had some delivery notice or another for Cloud, or one of her suppliers would inevitably have some bad news regarding the latest shipment. Had no one at all called?

The job board next to the phone had items crossed off; ones she’d planned to do that day. The garbage had been taken to the dump, apparently, and the payment for her liquor license renewal had been mailed. 

Well. That freed up her schedule quite a bit.

She went back to the table, sat down, and ate the breakfast that had been laid out for her. Briefly, thoughts of poison flitted through her mind, giving her a sense of danger and excitement, but morosely she realized that she just wasn’t important enough to poison these days. It put a damper on the mystery breakfast for a while, but nothing could permanently ruin free bacon.

She finished the last of the pork, and moved on to the hash browns, wondering what could have gotten into Cloud to make her a breakfast. And a good one, at that. He must’ve subcontracted the labour out. Cutting away a piece of pancake, and forking it into her mouth, she contemplated the mystery. The pancakes were fresh. And real pancakes, not premade, store-bought batter, or reheated. 

Cloud didn’t know the first thing about making pancakes. He still maintained that the waffle iron had picked a fight with him, and that was why he’d had to chop it in half. So, who did she know – and by extension, who did Cloud know – that could make good pancakes? Reeve subsisted off premade food, and without Shera, Cid would certainly die of starvation. Yuffie might be able to pull this breakfast off, but the bribe necessary to force her to do it would be prohibitive. Red XIII didn’t have the requisite amount of opposable thumbs to handle a frying pan or skillet, and no one was entirely certain if Vincent actually ate anything anymore since becoming Hojo’s personal lab project. There’d been a long-standing pool amongst Avalanche on whether or not he had to eat at all, or drank blood, or if he just retreated to the shadows to gorge himself on candy, but so far, no one had been able to prove anything.

No, none of their erstwhile travelling companions would be involved in this, with the exception of Barret, but he specialized more in gourmet dinners than breakfast. It was a skillset he tried to keep hidden, but at the same time, somehow managed to show off and act embarrassed about at every opportunity. And, he was busy on yet another expedition, this time setting up solar panels as a renewable energy source in the desert surrounding Gold Saucer.

Elmyra was a likely candidate, but something just didn’t feel right. She took another bite of pancake, and then immediately choked it up, staring at the meal in horror.

Pancakes.

She had to run upstairs to get the card from her fluffy robe’s pocket, and then had to run back downstairs to get the phone. It barely rang once after dialing before Tseng picked up.

“So, do you accept the job?” he asked.

“Did you send Reno to forever taint my happy thoughts of bacon by having him invade my home and cook me a delicious breakfast?”

There was a pause, and Tifa realized how ridiculous that sounded. 

“No,” Tseng answered, his voice betraying neither confusion nor surprise. “I assure you that I have no intention of poisoning you with what Reno refers to as cooking. I do, after all, wish to subcontract a job to you today.”

In the background, she heard Reno shout, “Thug power!”

“I know you sent one of your underlings into my house. Things were tidied. Chores were done. There was a rose with my breakfast. This has underlings and minions all over it.”

“I am in the business of protection, security, assassination and espionage, Ms. Lockhart. I assure you that my minions have not been ordered to become a cleaning service. Perhaps you should check to see if any elves have begun taking up residence?”

He managed to say it with such polite aplomb, almost smug in its way, that she knew that he knew something. Or maybe he just liked doing that to people. Killing them with kindness. Yeah, that seemed like a Tseng thing to do. But it gave her no leads on the Case of the Mystery Bacon.

“You don’t want me to assassinate someone, do you?” she asked suspiciously. 

“I’m afraid that I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of your mission until after you have signed on. However, I am quite aware of your moral code, and if I wanted someone from your particular side of the fence, so to speak, to assassinate someone, I would likely make an offer to Mr. Valentine first, Ms. Kisaragi second, and then your feline companion, Nanaki.”

“Canine,” Tifa corrected absently, an old habit of hers stemming from one of Avalanche’s other betting pools. 

“Regardless, it seems that your day has been freed unexpectedly. While I made no orders to arrange it, if you’d be willing, you’d be compensated quite handsomely for your time should you agree.”

“You could always send one of your minions to find my mystery elves. I’m sure they’d be happy to work for you.”

And then she hung up on the second most powerful man in the Shinra organization. It was the little things in life that made Tifa happiest.

 

10:34 AM

 

Tifa somehow managed to finish the mystery breakfast with the danger of it being Reno’s cooking gone. Whoever had made it knew their way around the kitchen, but it nagged at her. Finally, on a lark, she decided to call Elmyra. She hated mysteries.

It took a few rings, but Elmyra answered, “Hello?”  
“Hey, it’s Tifa.”

“Tifa! It’s good to hear from you. Are the kids doing well?”

“The monsters are fine,” she said with a smile. “In school right now.”

“Good. I can’t talk long right now. We’re going to see the latest premiere of Loveless. It’s back in the theatre circulation again, and I’ve never seen it, so—”

“Oh, understood,” Tifa said. That was what had been bothering her about the date before. She’d wanted to go to that. “Just, uh, were you… by earlier?”

“No, was I supposed to be? Did you need me to watch the kids?”

“No, no,” Tifa said. The last thing she needed was to burden Elmyra with, well, anything. She didn’t get to go out often, and…

Wait. Elmyra had said ‘we.’ Who was she going to see Loveless with?

Before Tifa could ask, there was a noise in the background on Elmyra’s phone, followed by the woman laughing. 

“I have to go, Tifa, you’ll have to call me later.”

“Okay, bye,” she said, but Elmyra had already hung up.

Well, the mystery bacon culprit – was that the right word? What did you call someone who stole the absence of something? – was still unknown, and now there was this ‘we’ situation. Unfortunately, Tifa only had time for one covert investigation.

She’d have to put it aside for now. She made a few business-related calls, made sure that her orders were well and truly ready to be delivered and that some major disaster had not only delayed or stopped them, but managed to make her suppliers forget to inform her of the fact. After twenty minutes of nothing but green lights, positive messages, and assurances that everything was running perfectly, Tifa felt a weight leave her shoulders.

She didn’t let the good mood last too long. Her laundry wasn’t going to do itself, and apparently Cloud was never going to get around to it. How did one train a war hero for domesticity? Apparently just expecting him to learn it wasn’t working. She’d have to go on the offensive.

With that in mind, she strode upstairs, walked into her room, and found all of her and Cloud’s clothes clean and folded neatly along their bed. Picking up one shirt suspiciously, she lifted it to her nose and sniffed. There was a very faint chemical odor, one she was familiar with. Someone had taken her clothes to the dry cleaners. More, she recognized this particular scent. She’d punched people who stunk of it often enough.

“Elves,” she said menacingly, narrowing her eyes.

She didn’t remember leaving the room, but she suddenly found herself back on the ground floor, the phone in one hand, the freshly laundered shirt in the other.

“Yes?” Tseng answered.

“I know what you’re doing!” Tifa all but shouted at him.

“Well, that makes one of us. I’m afraid my schedule is an absolute mess today. Let it be said, never allow your secretary lay out your day for you when you know Elena is perfectly capable of balancing it far better.”

“Save your… your…!” she seethed, unable to find a proper way to finish her sentence.

“Lies? Anecdotes? Excuses? Obfuscations?”

“Obfuscations! You’re trying to manipulate me into accepting that job!”

“I assure you, whatever it may be; I personally have nothing to do with it whatsoever. But now that you mention it, I really recommend that you take the job. I have been cleared to pay you ten thousand gil for the day.”

Tifa blinked. That… that was a lot of money. She hadn’t seen that kind of money since the Sephiroth incident. Granted, Yuffie had stolen most of it, and what she hadn’t, the rest of Avalanche had split equally, with Tifa using her share towards the new bar.

Ten thousand gil could get her a brand new furnace. It could go towards Denzel’s schooling. 

“Of course, that’s just out of Rufus’ pocket,” Tseng continued. “I could likely squeeze out another five thousand from the Turk budget for your time and aggravation.”

She could get her own washing machine so she didn’t have to depend on Cloud taking dirty clothes to the Laundromat. Or, she could put a down payment on her own motorcycle, so she wouldn’t have to borrow Fenrir anymore. Cloud always got that sad puppy-dog look in his eyes whenever someone was touching his bike and it wasn’t him.

“And I won’t have to assassinate anyone?” she asked.

“I can’t discuss the details, but no, you will not have to assassinate anyone.”

“And the elves continue what they’ve been doing,” Tifa said. 

“I assure you, no one under my employ is under any orders from me to be… elf-like.”

Tifa liked to think she was good at picking out lies. She’d tended bar enough years, and had heard enough people tell them, either as boasting or as a way to try to get into her pants. Tseng didn’t sound like he was lying. But then, he was a professional liar, and it was more likely that he was better at that than she was at ferretting them out. 

Something told her that Tseng was being level with her, though. If he’d been behind the spontaneous cleaning and cooking, he’d likely be using it as a bargaining chip. She figured he’d be one to manipulate any potential asset to his favour, and one to own up to a mistake if caught.

“Fine, but this had better not be some kind of trick,” she said.

“Excellent. You should drop by the new Shinra complex at, let us say, twelve thirty.”

“What am I supposed to do between now and then?” 

“My dear, what you do in your morning off is between yourself and your elves. I recommend making a mess and seeing what lengths they go to clean it up when you’re not in the room.”

A devilish grin took over Tifa’s face as she hung up.

For the next hour, Tifa did just that. At first, she was circumspect about it. She poured herself a drink of juice, took a single swallow, and then ‘accidentally’ spilled the entire glass over the bar counter and floor. She made exasperated sounds and left the room, ostensibly to go get a towel to clean it up.

She was gone for a minute at most, pointedly taking her time, and returned to find the mess cleaned, the glass righted and filled once more to the brim with juice. 

She’d made sure to listen for any overt sounds, any footsteps or hurried sounds of cleaning, but there had been nothing. Whoever was doing this, despite the obviousness of it, was attempting and succeeding at stealth.

Next, she grumbled about having to make lunch before leaving to do whatever job Tseng had hired her for. She made sure to grumble as loudly as possible, and made sure to include comments about how delicious the bacon had been for breakfast. 

Just to increase the difficulty, she made sure not to leave the kitchen. To entertain herself, she took out dishes she’d been meaning to throw out – some had been cracked or chipped, others were just old and hideous – and began to smash them on the floor. She was really getting into the swing of it, maybe fifteen minutes in, before she heard a soft noise in the bar proper. 

“Aha!” she cried, and sprinted over broken crockery, making sure not to cut her feet, to confront her quarry.

When she emerged in the room, she was greeted by the smell of bacon. A wrapped package was on a table, but no one was in sight. She walked over and inspected the item. It was a sandwich from Mike’s Deli down the street. She lifted a slice of toasted bread, and saw that it was her favourite – a BLT, no unnecessary condiments, with extra tomatoes. 

She was almost disappointed. She’d expected another homemade meal. Had the breakfast also been purchased? No, it’d been too fresh, still steaming. There’d been no packaging. And there were no places nearby that made breakfast that good. Still, there was no point in wasting a good BLT.

She took a bite, chewed, and made a moan of pleasure. She looked at the sandwich, and then double checked the wrapping. It looked like it was from the deli down the street. The packaging said it was from the deli down the street. But it definitely didn’t taste like it.

No, this was better. A lot better. The bacon wasn’t as fatty. The tomatoes were fresher. The lettuce was crisper. None of that chemical-fed, force grown food that was so common to the Midgar/Edge area. Even if the reactors were no longer in active use, and the Lifestream had brought new life to the blighted land, people were still in the habit of trying to skip steps. But this tasted natural.

She finished the sandwich before calling the deli. 

“First Plate Deli,” a man answered.

That was weird. She only did semi-regular business with the Deli, but she knew it was called ‘Mike’s.’

“Hi, this is Tifa Lockhart. I own Seventh Heaven down the street from you?”

“Sorry,” the man said. “I wouldn’t know. We’re new to the neighbourhood, just broke into franchising, expanding the restaurant business.”

“Welcome to the neighbourhood.”

“Thanks. What can I get ya? You calling for a delivery?”

“Kind of. I’m calling about one. Did someone order a BLT in the past fifteen minutes?”

“Ah, so you’re the one.”

“Excuse me?”

“Listen, some broad with a big shuriken came in, said she needed one, made from our private stock of ingredients, paid extra for it. Needed it real quick. Cut in line and everything.”

 _Big shuriken?_ Tifa thought. _Yuffie._

“I’m not sure I’m supposed to be telling you this,” the man said. “Now that I think about it… uh. Yeah. Forget I said anything.”

And then he hung up.

Well, that answered one question. But it now more heavily emphasized another. Why would Yuffie go to this kind of trouble?

She contemplated that for a bit, and then made her way back to the kitchen. All the broken dishes on the ground were now gone. Tifa checked the cabinets. New dishes – ones that didn’t match her old sets – had replaced them.

Well, there was only one thing to do. 

She pulled all the remaining old dishes, and smashed them to the floor as well. Then she went to go get ready for whatever mission Tseng had in store for her.


	2. Part Two

12:30

 

Tifa made sure to arrive at the doors to the new Shinra Complex at exactly the time Tseng had specified. She didn’t want him getting any ideas that she was eager to be here, but she didn’t want to miss out on any of that money he was promising. 

 

The Complex itself didn’t advertised itself as Shinra, nor was it particularly large. The fact that it had that nickname at all was something of a joke. It was a squat, three-story building, wider than it was tall. The lobby was an open area with stairs leading up and a front desk with a secretary, the second floor was occupied by the Turks, where someone was always on duty, and the third floor was dedicated entirely to Rufus’ work space. Some whispered that he had fallen on hard times, and was living there as well, but Tifa suspected the humble building was more in the nature of appeasement, a way of displaying humility to the general public while Rufus Shinra slowly integrated himself into any and all new powers that slowly emerged following Shinra’s ‘fall.’ While the company didn’t have the overt power it once did, Tifa suspected that was only because Rufus now preferred to run things far more subtly.

In the two times Tifa had been all but forced to make an appearance previously, a civilian secretary had been behind the desk, the one and only fixture of the bottom floor, but today, Reno dozed there, still wearing his mock Vincent Valentine costume. As she stepped inside, he snored loudly. She stopped, watching him, and was trying to decide if he was faking or not when he waved a hand at her, gesturing her upstairs, before letting out another snore.

She wondered what kind of elaborate joke he was making, or what statement he was going for with the outfit, but decided against asking. She didn’t actually want to know, and drawing attention to it would just feed into his need to be the centre of attention, a habit Tifa always wondered how someone in espionage managed to have and still be successful. That, if anything, was probably the greatest indicator of how deadly and talented Reno was at his job.

Walking up the steps – was this entire staircase one single piece of hardwood? How expensive was that? – Tifa tried not to let anxiety get a grip on her. Shinra wasn’t the threat that it used to be. They weren’t poisoning the Planet, and they weren’t running a dictatorship anymore, freely killing whomever they wanted. 

Piano notes played in her head, soothing away the fear. It made her want to punch people less. She emerged on the second floor. Five desks had been pushed against the intricately engraved walls, and mats spread out on the floor. In the middle, Rude, dressed in a martial arts gi, was sparring with Rufus who was similarly attired. On Rude, it looked natural. On Rufus, it seemed more like a fashion statement. 

Tseng and Elena, both bedecked in their trademark suits, watched from the sidelines, Tseng nodding in approval as the two combatants sparred. 

Tifa had no idea that Rufus knew how to actually fight. Watching the two of them, it seemed like the blonde man actually seemed to have some talent. His style mimicked Rude’s boxing and grappling one, relying more on upper body strength and ducking and weaving, but he was nowhere near as good. She could tell that Rude was holding back. She always knew when that one in particular was; he always had against her, but showed her companions no mercy. 

She stepped up to Tseng, who didn’t turn his gaze from the fight, but greeted her, “I am glad you came.”

“I was thinking of not bothering, to be honest,” she replied. “Almost walked away a few times on the way here.”

“Interesting outfit.”

She somehow knew he’d make a comment about the old getup. She’d been counting on it actually. 

“Uniform,” she said firmly. “It was an outfit a few years ago. Now, here, this is a uniform.”

“Ah, so you are making a statement. Understandable, given the circumstances. Just try not to blow up any buildings and kill an assortment of innocent bystanders, and we should be fine.”

“I can go with that, so long as you can try not to drop a sector plate and kill an assortment of innocent bystanders.”

For the first time, he turned his head to appraise her, his eyes searching. After a second, he bowed his head respectfully, and then turned back to watching the fight.

“I didn’t think you’d be this good at sparring,” he said.

“I haven’t started yet.”

“I was referring to the conversation, not any actual time on the mat.”

“So was I.”

Elena let out a small laugh. “That’s two points for her, boss.”

“Quite,” he responded. “So, what is your opinion on Rufus’ ability in hand-to-hand combat?”

Tifa concentrated on Rufus’ movements, how he pivoted, how he kept his weight on his feet, how he dodged and blocked and how little effort he put into the gestures.

“He has the basics down,” she said after a few minutes. 

“Some martial artists would credit him as a black belt. A remarkable feat considering we’ve only been training him for four months.”

She snorted. “A black belt only means that he has the basics mastered. Real fighting is learned outside of practice. You’ve made some mistakes in his training.”

“Oh?”

She watched Rufus some more, the way he threw looping punches, tried for haymakers and uppercuts, the way he threw his weight behind his hits.

“It looks like you’ve had Rude exclusively training him.”

“I fail to see the problem with that. Rude is equalled in hand-to-hand combat only by one person, Ms. Lockhart.”

“Surpassed,” she corrected. “And Rude practices a modified version of Mideelan boxing, with some Gold Saucer MMA and Corellian pit fighting thrown in because apparently someone lied and told him that’d be a good idea. It works for him, but it requires a lot of upper body strength. Which Rufus doesn’t have a lot of.”

“I thought it a good fit. No one would expect it out of him, and Rude is our best.”

Tifa scoffed, “No one would expect it out of him, sure, but after his first few blows failed to have the impact the style demands, he’d be the one on the ground because he overextended himself.”

Tseng nodded along. “And that is why you are here. I wanted this fighting style to be his foundation. Something he can instinctively fall back on in a moment’s notice with no hesitation and surprise his foe. Now I need you to teach him something that an enemy would predict, something quicker and more agile that he can use as an initial feint.”

Tifa laughed. She couldn’t help it. She threw back her head and laughed as long and as loudly as she could. She clutched at her belly, and kept at it until she was gasping. When she stopped, she looked up, to see that Rufus and Rude had stopped fighting to watch her. Tseng was giving her an odd expression, while Elena seemed amused.

Tifa asked, still struggling for breath, “You want me… to teach Rufus how to fight?” 

“Yes.”

“If you'd told me you'd be paying me actual money to punch Rufus Shinra in the face, I'd have signed up sooner!”

Tseng gestured for Rufus and Rude to continue sparring. Rufus seemed annoyed at having to take an order, an expression which quickly vanished as Rude made a jab at his head which he was forced to block.

“How long would it take to give him a quick foundation of your style of martial arts? And give him the ability to anticipate and counter advanced Wutaian ninjitsu?”

“Why Wutaian ninjitsu?”

“Need to know only.”

“I have friends in Wutai. You want my help, I need to know.”

He paused before answering, “Rufus Shinra has formally proposed marriage to Yuffie Kisaragi in an effort to broker a spirit of peace and cooperation between Wutai and the eastern continents.”

Tifa thought she had been laughed out, but she had to let another one out at that.

Tseng continued, “Yuffie has agreed. More than likely as a way of trying to steal Rufus’ wealth, but that’s a risk that we’re prepared to take. Godo, however, has not. And as Emperor of Wutai, he apparently reserves the right to challenge Rufus to prove his worth in combat.”

“He can’t pick a champion or something?”

“No. The rules of the duel are clear. The challenged party may only select a champion should the challenger do so first. If Godo, in his capacity as Yuffie’s father, challenges Rufus, Rufus must fight him or withdraw his suit.”

“Godo’s tough, but old. A few years ago, it would’ve flat out been impossible,” Tifa said, considering it. “Two, three weeks if I push him hard, and I can get him passably good so he doesn’t embarrass himself.”

“He will need these skills in six hours, and he needs to fight to win.”

“Can’t be done.”

“The same was said about you and your companions defeating Sephiroth, delivering a fatal blow to Shinra, and stopping Meteor.”

“Oooh, so you want an Avalanche miracle. You should’ve said so. We’re good at those. All right. Crack out the Restore Materia. I’ll get started on Rufus.”

“You’re going to train him into exhaustion, and then use the Materia to restore his vitality?”

“No, I’m going to punch and kick him until he’s so broken he can’t fight anymore, and then you’re going to cure him. Then we’re going to repeat that for six hours. If he hasn’t learned to defend himself against Wutaian ninjitsu, which I’ll be exclusively using, in that amount of time, he’s pretty much screwed.”

“Adapt or perish, is it?” Tseng mused. “This is why I needed you specifically in this role. No one else would be willing to push him hard enough to do this.”

She began to roll her shoulders, and stepped onto the mat. Though Rude could not see her, he seemed to sense her arrival and immediately disengaged from Rufus. He gave her that nod he always did, then turned and walked away.

Rufus gave her that cocky, condescending grin he liked so much. Finally, after so many years, she had the opportunity to punch it off his face.

So she did.

It was a blurring jab, meant more for speed than power. It was barely more than a tap, a testing blow, but it caught Rufus completely off guard and rocked his head back. He immediately fell into a defensive boxer’s stance, putting both fists up as a wall for his face, stepping back. When she didn’t follow up on the attack, he peeked out from his defense.

“Tifa,” he said, perhaps a little too warmly. “I hear good things about your prowess in hand-to-hand, and I—”

“That’s Master Lockhart while we’re on the mat,” she snapped, cutting him off.

He lowered his dukes a bit more, his eyes taking on a frosty look. Defiant. He was likely about to say or do something stupid to defend his pride. Probably make a comment like, ‘Shouldn’t it be Mistress Lockhart?’ How many times had she heard that idiotic statement? 

It didn’t matter what he was about to say. He needed to understand that while he was one of the most powerful men in the world, here, on this mat, she was in charge of his entire world.

“Your chin was just built to catch a fist,” she said. 

He seemed about to retort when she threw another jab. He managed to block that blow, but there was even less weight to it than the first. It had been a feint, just to see if he’d been prepared. The next punch was no such thing. It looped around his defenses, taking him across the jaw with a crunch of fracturing bone. 

Rufus made a noise, somewhere between a groan of pain and a roar of frustration. His eyes were shocked, almost glassy. That blow had nearly flattened him entirely. He had to know that the natural follow-up was coming, the finisher. A kick to the solar plexus to take out his air supply, or maybe a jab, knuckles out, to his wind pipe, or just a classic haymaker to his temple. From here, Rufus had three options. Total defense, which he was too dazed for. Surrendering, which his pride would never allow. Or counterattacking, throwing his own safety to the wind and trying to put his enemy down before she could do it to him.

He took a swing at her. The punch was wide, way off its mark, but she used it. Grabbing his wrist with one hand, his elbow with the other, she locked his arm straight and then pulled him in towards her as she pivoted. His body struck her back, but even as it did she was already heaving, rolling him up and over her shoulder in a throw.

There were two types of throws in martial arts. The more common one seen in tournaments was meant to disadvantage a foe, toss them off balance and put them on their back where they’d be at their most vulnerable. You threw your opponent, and they ended up on the floor. The other was using the ground itself as a weapon. You threw your opponent at the ground, as hard and as brutally as you could manage.

Tifa always opted for the second. 

The air slammed out of Rufus’ lungs as he hit, and there was the definite sound of something else cracking inside of him. Even as she cleared herself from him, she took the time to kick him in the jaw, turning the fracture she’d given him into a splintering break. His head snapped to the side. Any harder, and she’d have broken his neck, or a good piece of his skull, but Tifa had made sure not to permanently damage him.

She looked at the Turks, who were standing, stunned at the sheer violence she’d inflicted on their boss in such a short amount of time. Tseng looked as if he were visibly restraining himself from rushing to Rufus’ defense.

“Restore Materia,” Tifa snapped. “Get to it. We have six hours to cover, and we’re going to probably be averaging at least eight hits this hard an hour.”

Elena flinched, and then looked to Tseng as if asking for permission. Rude, as always, was unreadable, but somehow, Tifa knew he was just as intimidated as Elena.

“Restore Materia,” she repeated. “Now!”

The two loped into a race to go get it. While they did, Tifa looked down at her shirt and saw that she’d gotten some of Rufus’ blood on it. She sighed. Blood was nearly impossible to get out entirely. She was probably going to need a whole new uniform by the time the day was out.

Well, that’s what she had elves for, apparently.

 

6:30 PM

 

She set a gruelling pace. 

Tifa expected Rufus to quit. Not just quit, but to give up and declare the entire exercise a waste of time in a matter of minutes. She didn’t expect him to even last an hour. He managed with grit, determination, and pure Shinra contrariness to last the entire time she had been hired for, despite the fact that she not only matched her promise to nearly hospitalize him eight times an hour, but slightly exceeded it. 

She had to admit, the first few times she broke his bones felt really satisfying. Tifa normally loathed violence, but Rufus Shinra had been responsible for a lot of pain and suffering in the world, and getting the chance to mete some of it out to him felt not only good, but right. But after the sixth or seventh time, she started to feel a little sad. He kept going. She kept knocking him down. Rude kept bringing him back. More than a few times, they had to pull out some Phoenix Downs to revive Rufus from unconsciousness because the Restore Materia just wasn’t enough by itself. Tseng carefully watched and noted each Down as they did. Tifa hoped that was an expense report, and not some kind of infraction list so he’d know precisely how much vengeance to visit upon her later.

She didn’t have time to worry about it. She had a job to do, and despite what she would have preferred, Rufus was a quick learner. Maybe it was survivor’s instincts kicking in. Adapt or perish. It’s what she’d been aiming for when she decided to train him like this, but at the same time, the thought that Rufus was a natural like Tseng said kept echoing in her head. That bothered her for some reason. It just made her hit him harder.

All the while, she played piano in her head, running through old songs and composing new ones, making notes in her head of what to keep, and what to revise. After all this violence she was doing, she had to go back to the bar, go back to her piano, and make something beautiful when she was finished. That was balance. That was peace.

When Tseng called time, both she and Rufus were gasping, and covered in sweat and blood. Most of the blood was Rufus’, but not all. He’d managed to get some hits in, but not many. At least some of them were deliberate, not ones she’d allowed to slip past her guard to make a better exchange of blows. At the first one, Rufus had thought he’d landed a ‘lucky hit.’ She’d made sure to correct him, teach him that when it came to fighting at her level, there was no luck, only skill.

And then she’d kicked in his knee cap and broken it, but you had to take the good with the bad where it came to the Master/Student experience.

She felt pride at what she’d accomplished, all things considered. She didn’t like hitting people – even people who deserved it, like Rufus. But there was now an invisible brand on the man. She’d helped mould him into something else, something stronger. Maybe not the best, which was what he would need, but something better than he had been. It was a union of trust, something she hoped Rufus understood. She’d given him something; it was up to him to use it wisely.

But then, if he ever abused it, she supposed she could just break his pelvis and then take pictures. There were people who’d pay money to see that kind of thing.

Rufus, his expression no longer the pratty, arrogant one that he usual wore, verged on grudging respect. He gave a quick bow, though it obviously pained him to do so. He’d likely need more healing before his formal proposal. 

She bowed in response. It was only polite, and if he was going to show proper sparring etiquette, she saw no reason not to return it. 

Tseng was at Rufus’ side immediately, draping an arm around him and leading him from the room. Rude had disappeared somewhere, leaving Tifa with only Elena. The blonde Turk was holding an envelope in one hand, a rectangular cardboard box in the other, both of which she held out.

“These arrived at the front desk, while you were…” she stumbled over her own words, as if looking for a polite way of saying ‘beating the snottiness out of my boss.’

“Busy?” Tifa finished for her.

“Yeah.” She looked grateful. “Busy.”

Tifa took the envelope, and tore it open. Inside was a single ticket for Loveless. She felt herself take an involuntary breath. She’d always wanted to see it. There was no note attached, no signature or writing on the envelope at all. Next, she took the box from Elena, juggled the ticket and envelope in her hands, and managed to open it without dropping anything. Inside was a blue dress, deep and expensive-looking. She pulled it out, discarding the box entirely, and held it up.

“Holy crap,” Elena said.

It was a good cut, and looked like it’d been tailored for her. It would have to be, considering her curves. Not many places made dresses that fit her and sold them on the rack. She turned it, back to front. It was gorgeous, while being simple. She’d owned a dress much like this one once, but this one was lacking one particular feature the old one had. There was no window for her cleavage. It wasn’t meant to show off her most prominent assets in, which she just assumed everyone would instinctually want to showcase. The skirt part didn’t reach down long; most of her legs would be exposed, and there were small slits in the side.

She realized with a start that the dress was meant to be elegant, expensive, and allow her to be able to fight while wearing it. She wouldn’t have to worry about falling out, the skirt tripping her, or having to rip it beforehand in order to kick.

The material felt odd in her hands. It looked pricey, whatever it was, but …

She looked at Elena, and held the dress up to her suit. They didn’t look quite the same – the dress was shinier, more shimmering in its look, but it felt tough.

“That’s nanofiber weave,” Elena said. “High grade, too. We use the stuff for our suits. Half the weight of Kevlar, and it looks classy. But that, that’s next generation stuff. Rufus has his suits made out of that stuff. That must have cost… someone a lot of money.”

“Who left it?” she asked.

Elena shrugged. “Reno was on desk duty, since our secretary had the day off and Cissnei’s been, ah, busy.”

_Cissnei?_ Tifa thought. She didn’t recognize the name, but something tickled at the back of her memory.

It didn’t matter. Were these gifts the work of her mystery elves? More than likely. She hadn’t told anyone that she’d be here. She’d been more than certain this wouldn’t be a trap. If Tseng had wanted her dead, there were dozens of better ways he and the Turks could go about it, and they no longer had motive besides. This was bordering on creepy. But then, it’d been there for a while now.

Elena was looking at the ticket in Tifa’s hand, and said, “I guess we’ll see you there.”

“Pardon?”

“Loveless. Rufus is going with Yuffie tonight, and then proposing to her during the intermission on stage. Ah, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Tifa made a gesture of zipping her lips with one hand, and Elena smiled.

“Is there somewhere I can shower?” Tifa asked. “I’ll probably be heading right to the play from here, so I guess I’ll get changed into this here.”

Elena gestured vaguely at the wall, “Yeah. We have a hidden door, leads to the locker rooms. Just push the round thing.”

Rather than inquire further, and risk more infuriatingly bad directions, Tifa checked the general area that Elena had directed her to. The wall appeared to be one piece, with carvings all throughout. It seemed needlessly decorative, but that was hardly surprising given who owned it. Had Rufus had this commissioned, or had he bought it like this?

She carefully folded the dress and put it back in its box, made sure it was tightly closed, and tucked it under one arm.

Feeling along the wall, Tifa pushed on a number of ‘round things’ – circles, swirls, carvings of Materia orbs – and didn’t have any success until she clicked down on an engraving of the Planet behind held aloft by a robed figure. The fact that the robed figure was seated, and said robe could possibly be a sheet, and could easily be mistaken for Rufus as he had been just a few years ago occurred to Tifa, and made her at least a little more comfortable with all the violence she’d just inflicted on him. 

The wall hissed a click noise, and a door opened up, seems appearing where there had been none before. She rolled her eyes at the self-indulgence involved in the construction of a secret passage, walked through, and deliberately left it open. The rebel inside of her hoped someone came up and saw the open door, a delivery person or something.

The room behind was tiled, white, and immaculate. There was a short hall with two doorways, branching left and right, with signs indicating one room for men, and the other for women. She was actually kind of surprised to see that the Turks apparently didn’t have a co-ed shower room. Were the segregated rooms to keep Reno in line, or some part of propriety on Tseng’s part, or… 

She decided not to focus on it. She didn’t have the energy for it, she was tired and sore, and frankly, she was grateful that she didn’t have to share the room with any of the male Turks. The last thing she needed was Reno or Rude to ‘accidentally’ walk in on her.

Walking down the short hall, she stopped as she heard voices.

“Rufus has it bad for that Yuffie chick,” said Reno. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Poor Tseng,” came Rude’s reply.

“What? The boss likes her, too? Didn’t think he went for Wutes, him being such a racist against his own people and all.”

“No. He likes Rufus.”

“What, really? Shut up. No way. He had a thing for the Ancient chick. Everyone knows it.”

There was a pause. Tifa could all but envision Rude struggling to elaborate further on the drama without actually committing himself too deeply to the gossip. The Turk finally answered, “Ask Cissnei.”

“Man, poor Elena. She will never get with Tseng.”

Rude grunted in response.

Tifa hovered, wondering whether or not to linger and keep listening, or to move on. She wasn’t normally one for gossip, but there were so few people to gossip with these days. It seemed like everyone she knew was getting on with their lives, having their own adventures, while she was stuck in a failing bar, in a house that was practically falling apart. 

“They’re always like that.”

Tifa nearly jumped, startled at the whispered female voice. She whirled about to face the newcomer, and was surprised that it belonged to someone she hadn’t seen in years.

The woman had shoulder length auburn hair, brown eyes, a barely contained smile, and ruining what was otherwise a good track record, a Turk suit. Tifa didn’t think she’d ever heard the woman’s name before, but so long ago, she’d been rescued by her on Mount Nibel. Before Meteor, before Avalanche, before even the initial Sephiroth nightmare. 

Tifa wasn’t sure how to react. She’d been caught eavesdropping, something she felt immediately embarrassed about.

“I, uh, I—” she stammered.

“Sssh,” the woman said quietly. “They’re about to get to the best part. This always comes up, and it’s funny and sad every time.”

“Of course,” Reno continued, oblivious there were now two people listening in on his gossip, “the real person to pity is you, Rudy-Roo. Years. Years obsessing over a chick who will never want to have anything to do with you. I know monks that are less devoted to their faith than you are to that woman. I mean, sure, Tifa has nice tits, but you do this to yourself over that? Over some stupid terrorist broad who’s all lovey dovey over a guy with brain damage?”

Tifa felt her face go red, blushing wildly, and she wasn’t sure if she should be angry or mortified. She glanced over to the Turk woman, who she expected to be amused at the comment, but instead she looked almost panicked.

A second later, there was a terrible crashing sound. There was a surprised yelp, followed by another bang. It sounded like something being thrown against a metal object. Lockers.

There was a pause, and then Reno made a pained groan, before saying, “She was the enemy, man. Sure, they saved the world, but you’ve seen her bar. You’ve seen what that shit pays. No idea what you see in her.”

There was another loud bang, sudden and furious, but it didn’t sound like a person being thrown into more lockers. Rude’s fist, maybe?

“She cares,” came the man’s response. “That’s what I see.”

The Turk woman grabbed Tifa by the suspenders and yanked. She nearly swatted the hand away by instinct, but suppressed the urge and followed, all but being dragged to the women’s locker room. They emerged into a smallish room, flanked by showers on one side, a pair of bathroom stalls on the other, and more lockers than was probably necessary on the other. 

Tifa was about to say something, but footsteps, angry and pronounced, sounded in the hallway they’d just been in. After a moment, they faded away, causing the Turk to audibly sigh in relief.

“What was that?” Tifa hissed.

“Those two gossip more than a pair of old ladies on canasta night. Rude’s had it bad for this one Tifa girl for years, and Reno always needs to bring it up. He’s usually smarter about it, though. Last time he was that critical, Rude broke his…” she stopped for a moment, as if suddenly noticing who she was talking to for the first time. “You’re Tifa, aren’t you?”

“Guilty,” she said in what was certainly not a squeak.

The woman sucked in a breath as she winced. “Awkward. I’m Cissnei.”

“Ah, not your awkward. My awkward.”

“Still. Sorry. If I’d known…”

“You didn’t,” Tifa said. “I should’ve identified myself sooner. I just… need to get a shower and then get home and hide under some blankets for a bit and then die of embarrassment maybe.”

Dammit. Why did Rude have to go and have feelings? She knew. She’d heard Reno and Rude gossip all those years ago in Gongaga, and had felt just as mortified then. And all those fights when he hadn’t taken a single swing at her, but was more than happy to put fist to face with Cloud, or boot to ass with Barret, or knock Cid’s teeth in that one time. Or when he’d grabbed Yuffie by the foot after she’d kicked him, and then swung her around and knocked Cait off Mog. They’d all had a good laugh afterwards, quiet enough to make sure it hadn’t hurt Yuffie’s pride too much. 

But Rude had always been willing to inflict any amount of violence on her friends. But he’d never raised a fist at her.

She needed to get away. She suddenly felt like a prey animal that had found itself in a predator’s den. She’d been hoping to go to the play right from the Shinra Complex, but now… 

Double checking the box that held the dress and that it was still properly secure and that somehow the dress hadn’t fallen out, she gave some quick apologies to Cissnei and ducked out the door. She’d just have to make it back to the bar, shower, get changed, and make it to the play on foot. Somehow.

When Tseng paid her, the first thing she was going to do was buy a motorcycle of her own.


	3. Part Three

7:30 PM

 

She’d all but run the entire way back to the house, and only made a cursory check to make sure her elves hadn’t fixed or changed anything they weren’t supposed to before hopping in her shower and once more having to combat tepid water. It wasn’t as long as she’d liked – her muscles were sore and threatening to stiffen, and she didn’t have time to properly stretch them or soak under the lukewarm water. 

With a growl of frustration, she was forced to cut off the shower well before she would have preferred, and put on her dress. At the last moment, she realized she didn’t have a sitter for the monsters, and swore. Making her way downstairs, she was about to pick up the phone to call Elmyra – barely remembering before she punched the speed dial that Elmyra was also going to see Loveless and wouldn’t be available – when a knock sounded on the door. She looked up, and wondered what her elves had managed to produce this time.

Walking to the door, she opened it to find Yuffie, dressed in a traditional kimono, a large smile on her face. 

“Aha!” Tifa said. “I knew you were involved!”

Yuffie’s excited expression quickly gave way to confusion, then irritation. “Well hello to you, too, Boobs. What are you accusing me of now?”

“You’re an elf!” Tifa said, although not with the confidence that she’d previously had.

“I don’t know what that means. Are you on drugs? Because if you are, I’ll be really upset unless you share.”

“We don’t have drugs in the house.”

“Really? Because there’s no way that Cloud is that emo without the help of a lot of tranquillizers.”

Tifa rolled her eyes, and said, “Nice kimono.”

“Don’t get me started. Dad’s idea. I wanted something in a two piece. I feel exposed unless I’m exposing my midriff.”

“Listen, Yuffie, I really need to get going, I have to—”

“Less talking,” the princess said, grabbing Tifa by one arm as she pulled. “More moving. Your carriage awaits!”

Yuffie all but dragged Tifa from the room. As they exited, Tifa saw Red XIII seated on his haunches. Her furry friend gave a nod and flicked his tail at her, and said, “I was advised you were in need of a favour from a mutual acquaintance.”

“Mutual acquaintance?” Tifa asked. “Who?”

“Never mind that for the moment. With your permission, I can safeguard the house while you are out, and make sure the children don’t get into too much mischief.”

“Uh…” she replied, but Yuffie was already pushing her up and into a carriage – an actual chocobo-driven carriage, of all things! – before she could give an answer one way or the other.

As soon as they were up and inside of the gilded wooden contraption, Yuffie banged on the front wall, stuck her head out the side window, and yelled, “Get moving! We’ve got a play to go to!”

Tifa adjusted herself in her seat – were the cushions actually silk? – and was content to get ready for a trip in some restful silence, but Yuffie had that giant grin of hers on, and seemed to be all but vibrating in her seat. She obviously wanted to talk. 

Sighing, Tifa asked, “So, you’re getting married?”

“Aw,” the ninja said, deflating. “Someone already spoiled it.”

“Blame the gossips that are known as the male half of the Turks.”

“Pops is pretty much ecstatic. You would not believe his face when I told him that I’d tricked Rufus into formally proposing to me.”

“Wait. Not only are you okay with the idea of marrying Rufus Shinra, but Godo is as well? Has someone drugged the water in Wutai?”

Yuffie snorted, and waved a hand dismissively. “Shinra had been trying to get its business into Wutai for years before the war. You have no idea how many times the old President used to show up with some proposal or another, and he usually brought Rufus with him. He wasn’t a totally snide asshole when he was a kid, and we got along fine, despite the age difference. There was this one time when I tried to show off my hot ninja skills to him and climbed a tree, and then got stuck up there. So, he tried to be a hero and climbed up to rescue me. And then he got stuck, too. It was funny. I have good memories of him from back then. And of course dad’s excited about the whole thing. He’s been having little bursts of joy where he actually smiles and laughs maniacally as he thinks about all the concessions he can get out of Rufus, getting him out of that stupid peace treaty Shinra rammed down our throats.”

“But… Shinra isn’t a power anymore. No one actually expects Wutai to follow by it anymore.”

“No one but us,” Yuffie said. “We gave our word, and unlike everyone else, we actually follow by it. We’re stuck to those stupid terms by a code of honour until someone with the Shinra family name relinquishes them. Or until everyone in their bloodline is dead.”

Tifa smiled, wistfully playing with that idea. “You know, you could just kill Rufus instead of having to marry him. I’m sure no one would mind. Well, except Tseng, but who cares about him?”

“Are you kidding me?” Yuffie asked. “I’m not going to kill Rufus. Have you seen his ass? Oh yeah. Mama like. Gonna get me some of that.”

Tifa laughed, happy to just be able to sit and chat and not have to worry about either bills and kids and a lover who frequently disappeared on walkabout or even the next world-ending apocalypse. It seemed like she didn’t get enough time to do that in her life.

She smiled happily, and glanced out the window. There, outside, was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She only caught a glimpse of it, there and gone, but she immediately leaned her head out the window, twisted to look at it as the display stand retreated into the distance. 

The carriage didn’t move too quickly – more of a stately pace – so she was able to make out more than she expected. It was black, burnished gold and silver, slimmer and more sleek than Cloud’s Fenrir. It was just beginning to get too far to make out when Yuffie began to bang on the wall of the carriage, and shouted for the driver to stop.

Tifa pulled herself back in only so long as it took to open the door and dash out when the carriage halted. Yuffie came out the other side, but slower.

She ran the entire way. She didn’t care how she looked, a woman in an expensive dress running through Edge.

There was a man standing at the neon-lit store, working on another bike next to the one that was the object of her interest. He gave her a cursory glance, lingering on her bare legs, and then on her breasts. She scowled, and he went back to his work.

It was _the_ bike, she realized. There was a posted label that said it was an ‘ASURA FF6’, and she quickly read over the specs. Apparently it was faster and more agile than the Fenrir, and easier on fuel, but couldn’t hold nearly the weight. It, like the Fenrir, apparently also had a hip-pivot system, allowing for greater control of the bike with one’s legs to turn.

“Huh,” Yuffie said, coming up behind Tifa. “Didn’t know they still made Asuras.”

“You know this type of bike?”

“Some solders – not many, we usually like it old school – used them during the war. See those weird bars?”

Yuffie pointed to the sides of the bike, where several small, flat pieces of steel protruded. They didn’t seem to have a use, and came close to where the rider’s legs would be, but not close enough to get in the way.

“Wutaian soldiers would stand on their bikes and jump off them and at their enemies. Easier to dismount when moving at full speed. Suicidal, but excellent for melee. I’m surprised Cloud didn’t mod his Fenrir and add them, the way he can’t stay on his bike during a fight.”

Tifa nodded, half to herself. She could picture herself doing it. Standing while the bike was in motion, casting a Barrier spell on herself to mitigate the damage as she kicked an opponent while still going at full speed.

“How much?” Tifa blurted.

The man looked up from the bike he was working on, surprised by her question. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. How much?”

He seemed to think before asking, “You’re that broad from Seventh Heaven, right?”

Yuffie made a disgusted noise. “Don’t call Boobs ‘broad.’ It’s rude.”

Tifa playfully swatted her friend, and then answered, “Yes.”

“Heard your boyfriend, the hero with the spiky hair, got his bike from a place across town. Bought it with free meals and drinks from your place for life.”

She rolled her eyes. Cloud hadn’t even consulted her on that particular offer before making it. It was deals and promises like that which made keeping the business afloat difficult.

“Yes. And?”

“Two grand, plus the same.”

“Seven grand,” she countered. “And you can buy your own food and drinks.”

He seemed to think about it, and then the two began the serious business of bartering. She came wearing the wrong clothes, she realized. The dress was too expensive, and coming from a chocobo-drawn carriage alongside a woman who looked the part of a Wutaian princess – for the first time in her life – certainly didn’t help. The man assumed she was in possession of money she didn’t actually have, and when they finally settled, it wiped out twelve of the fifteen thousand Tseng had promised her. He agreed to deliver both the bike and the bill to her the next day. As she wrote down the address and billing information, Tifa laughed to herself.

“What?” Yuffie asked.

“I just realized. Godo’s happy you’re getting married. Tseng paid me to beat the shit out of Rufus for no reason.”

 

7:58 PM

 

Tifa and Yuffie made it to the play on time somehow. There were massive lines for people still attempting to buy last minute tickets, which they were lucky to bypass. They stepped into the theatre, which was every bit as nice as Tifa expected. Cushy red carpets, large vaulted ceilings, gold gilding along the walls. It was the kind of large and fancy that reminded her of her small town origins.

They showed their tickets to a young man behind a booth, which he took, tore, and gave back before waving them through.

“Well,” Yuffie said. “I’m going to be leaving you here before the drama.”

“Drama? What drama?” Tifa asked, alarmed.

Yuffie gave her that signature impish grin and slipped into the crowd, disappearing. Tifa growled in exasperation, and cast a glance around. As she did, a door to what looked like a utility closet opened as her eyes fell on it, and Cloud stepped out.

He looked bewildered, but there he was, dressed in a fine black suit and shoes that looked as if they’d never once seen military service. He had a piece of paper in his hand, which he quickly crumpled up and stuffed in his pocket.

“Cloud!” she said, a smile coming over her face.

She walked up to him in a way that she hoped was suggestive, trying to sway her hips in a way that looked so natural for other women when they were trying to show off. He turned, and looked as if he were seeing her, really seeing her, for the first time all over again. The wide eyes, the opening of his mouth, the way he suddenly went pale and then immediately blushed… it all felt amazing.

“So,” she said once she reached him, “I have you to thank for all of this?”

He paused, and looked as if on the verge of panic. She laughed, immediately deflating the tension, his shoulders slumping in relief. He rubbed at the back of his, running his fingers through his hair while the other was placed on his waist. He always did that when he was trying to look confident.

“We should probably go find our seats,” he said.

 

9:30 PM

 

Tifa had heard about Loveless so many times, always sung with such praise. People called it a definitive work of art, a masterpiece, and the most perfect tragedy of all. Customers would quote it endlessly to her, and some would point out that she looked a lot like the lead, the woman always shown on the posters displayed for it whenever it made the circuit. She’d dreamt of seeing it for years.

There, sitting in the audience after such a long wait, she found the play completely and utterly horrifyingly bad. It was overdramatic, pretentious drivel. People cried about their emotions and their feels, and went on at length about a gift from the goddess who fell from the heavens – the similarities of which between the alleged goddess and what she knew to be the Calamity from the Skies, Jenova, did not go unnoticed by Tifa.

It was emo drivel.

Cloud seemed to love it.

Still, the music was enjoyable. She made mental notes of the piano pieces, trying to catch as much of it as she could and promising herself to find the sheet music for it, and found herself enjoying the string portion as well. 

“Is that Rude?” Cloud asked, part way through.

Tifa looked to where she assumed Cloud was indicating, the balcony seat where Rufus was located. She couldn’t see much, but she saw two people seated, surrounded by four silhouettes. None of them were large enough to be the bald Turk.

“Where?” she whispered.

Cloud pointed towards the stage, and realized he was motioning at the band pit. While most of the musicians were tucked away from sight, one was taller than the rest. Even seated as he played, a cello in his hands, Rude’s signature bald head and piercings were visible due to his height. With a start, she realized he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. She’d never seen him without them.

It was the music, she realized, or rather, his playing. The music pit was dark, the only real light was on the stage itself. He had to keep track of his fingering and the conductor at the same time. The sunglasses would only get in the way, make it harder for him to perform.

“Didn’t think anyone from the Shinra side of things would play music,” Cloud said.

She gave Cloud a playful swat. It didn’t matter what ‘side’ you were on. Anyone could appreciate music; they just had to look for it. More, it made sense for anyone who dedicated themselves completely to martial arts to be drawn to it. The flow, the rhythm, the planned spontaneity. The act of playing music for even a minute, giving yourself to it completely, had more Zen to it than any amount of meditation did.

The music drew to a close, and the lights dimmed, the theatre going dark as the act ended. The actors hurried off stage, clearing the way as the intermission set in. When the lights came back on, the assorted musicians stood, stretching, some already putting their instruments before leaving. Not Rude. He still stayed where he’d been seated, but his sunglasses were now back on. He tuned his cello, but he looked tired, as if he’d had the longest day in his life and was preparing himself as if he’d only just begun his work.

“Something’s off,” Cloud said.

Tifa looked to him, saw that he was scanning the crowd, and immediately followed his gaze. It took her a second to pick it out. The ushers. All of them were Wutaian, to a man. Cloud stood, immediately pushing past her into the aisle, leaving before she could explain. They were likely Godo’s protection detail. It wasn’t often that the Emperor of Wutai left his home. Still, it didn’t feel right that they were so integrated into the theatre’s personnel. 

She glanced up to Rufus’ balcony to find Elena and Cissnei still occupying it, chatting with each other, while Reno stood in a pose of mock brooding in the shadows, still bedecked in his Vincent Valentine costume. 

The lights dimmed, and people who looked as if they’d been ready to get up to go to the bathroom or the concession stand appeared confused, not knowing whether to sit down or go through with their initial plans. 

A spotlight flashed in the middle of the stage, falling on Rufus, a microphone in his hand. Behind him, and off to the side, was Tseng.

“Ladies, gentlemen. Please be seated,” he said. “We are currently at this play’s intermission, but before you go about your business during the break, I have an announcement to make.”

The theatre goers all seemed to exchange looks with one another, as if still unsure what to do, but Rufus flashed that winning smile of his at the front row, and made a ‘sit’ gesture with one hand. When they did, others followed.

“Many of you know me,” he said. “For those of you who do not, I am Rufus Shinra, former President of Shinra Incorporated.”

There was a silence at first, and then the sound of hissing, followed by booing and jeering. He took it all with an air of contrition, appearing to be a penitent man receiving judgement that was well-deserved. It was an act, Tifa knew. He was playing the crowd.

“Rufus Shinra, you’re a monster!” came Yuffie’s voice, projected over the crowd.

A second later, another spotlight flicked on, shining down Tifa’s aisle. She turned, twisting to see Yuffie standing defiant. The audience looked with her. Yuffie’s call had been too loud, amplified by a microphone, but there wasn’t one in sight. She likely had a mic pinned to her kimono, out of sight so as not to ruin the effect.

“I am,” Rufus responded. “I have done many horrible things to this Planet we call our home. The Shinra name has much to answer for.”

The booing started again, but Yuffie took control, silencing them as she strode forward and spoke once more, “And what will Shinra do to make up for the horrors it has committed? The damage it has caused? I ask you as Princess of Wutai, a nation that has suffered under the heel of Shinra more than any other!”

The anger, the fury, in her voice sounded real, but as Yuffie reached Tifa’s side, she stopped, and threw a quick wink. 

The crowd didn’t seem to notice. People among them shouted agreements, some openly yelling how Shinra became evil because of the war. Others were just content to hurl epithets. Rufus did his best to appear resolute, but contrite.

“A lesser man would try to pass off the sins of his father as belonging to the father alone,” Rufus answered. “I am not a lesser man. Though I did not commit the crimes of my father, I will earn redemption for the Shinra name. A redemption I have already worked towards, and will continue to do so.”

“And how can you possibly redeem yourself?” Yuffie asked, her tone no longer angry, but instead curious, meant to draw the crowd in.

“Yeah, tell us!” another voice yelled, male and gruff.

Tifa jerked, twisting again to look at a new figure coming down another aisle. A spotlight shone once more, this time illuminating Barret Wallace, dressed in a tuxedo and pulling it off well. Unlike Yuffie, Barret didn’t seem to have a microphone. The anger in his voice was loud enough.

 _Oh no_ , she thought. What was he doing there?

“Mister Wallace,” Rufus said. “Are you here representing your old affiliation, Avalanche?”

“Nah,” he said. “Heard you was makin’ an appearance tonight from a friend. Thought I’d come an’ see this show in person. Heard it’d be quite the act.”

Rufus’ eyes took on a frosty look. “I understand you’ve been making some achievements with oil fields and solar panels recently. A commendable act.”

“Anything’s better’n that Mako shit you used to sell,” Barret countered. “But yeah, I been doin’ well for both myself and the Planet.”

“And yet, so little attention to coal. Not the best fuel source, but still capable. Tell me, Mr. Wallace. You’re from Corel, are you not? Do they not mine coal there?”

“Corel was destroyed by you and the Shinra,” Barret growled. “Its people are strong, but they’re still havin’ trouble getting on their feet. They only got the one mine shaft open. Don’t got no tools to safely reopen the others.”

“Very well. Then let it be said, in front of everyone assembled here, that I will personally make sure that Corel receives the equipment it so desperately needs, free of charge. A gift, in the spirit of making amends.”

“And what about Rocket Town?”

Another spotlight lit up, this one illuminating Cid – pointedly wearing casual clothes – as he stepped onto the stage. Tifa briefly wondered who was manning the lights. Had Rufus planned this? Making all of his known enemies come against him, and he’d be forced to give in to their demands, looking like the hero by giving his assistance?

And then Tifa remembered that wink from Yuffie. No. This wasn’t Rufus’ plan at all. Especially not from the look of annoyance that was deepening on his features. 

“Shinra up and dropped the Space Program,” Cid growled. “And then did whatever it could to shit on the town in the aftermath! More, think o’ all those scientists without jobs when you decided to go play the chicken shit because people got all mad at you and you shut down your company!”

“Get to the point, Highwind,” Rufus said in a barely contained growl.

Tifa nearly hid her grin, but decided not to. She was enjoying this far too much.

“We could damn well be explorin’ the stars! Give Rocket Town a purpose, put our best an’ brightest to work and discoverin’ shit, the way they’re supposed to be, instead of gettin’ bored and diggin’ up space monsters and puttin’ their cells an’ shit in people just to see what happens.”

Rufus somehow managed to take the request in stride, and agreed to Cid’s request without promising too much money out of his pocket, trying to be evasive where he could. This wasn’t at all going as he’d expected it to. As Cid nodded in satisfaction, seemingly happy that he’d extracted his pound of flesh, the crowd erupted, people standing and yelling, demanding their own reparations from Shinra, for slights and injuries, real or imagined.

And then, Tifa realized, this was her chance. Her chance to get something she wanted, no, something she needed, from Shinra.

“Give me your mic,” Tifa said to Yuffie, standing up and holding out her hand.

“Why?” she asked.

“Just give it to me. Please?”

Yuffie caught the tone Tifa used, almost desperate, furious and sorrowful. Now was not the time for playing around. Unpinning the microphone from her kimono, Yuffie handed it over to her friend. Tifa didn’t bother attaching it to her dress, instead holding it directly to her mouth.

“Rufus Shinra!” she said, perhaps a little too loudly.

The crowd balked at the noise, people flinching away as her voice washed over them. The spotlight that had been on Yuffie jerked, moving over Tifa.

“Ms. Lockhart,” Rufus said respectfully, all traces of irritation gone from his voice. He knew that she was in on his original plan. Likely he thought she intended to rescue him. “What can I help you with tonight?”

“Did Shinra destroy my home town?”

Whatever he’d been expecting her to say, it certainly hadn’t been that. The words hung in the air, echoed by the theatre’s acoustics. 

“Ms. Lockhart, you’re from Nibelheim, correct? To my knowledge, it’s—”

“Don’t lie,” she hissed. “You know the truth. Tell them. Let everyone know.”

Yuffie leaned in, speaking into the microphone, “Rufus, if you really want to be forgiven… you have to admit that wrong was done.”

He paused, seeming to consider. Tseng leaned in and whispered something to him, something no one else could hear. Rufus shook his head, disagreeing. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Rufus said, “Nibelheim has been dead, burned to ash, for years, for the hubris of Shinra. Its people were killed by Sephiroth, including but not limited to the families of both Tifa Lockhart, who is here, and Cloud Strife. Heroes who would go on and save the Planet from Sephiroth and Meteor. Who Sephiroth did not kill, Shinra did. Soldiers marched into the remains of the town and killed whatever survivors they could, and then rebuilt, putting in displaced war refugees and Shinra employees, all with cover stories, to hide the truth. They were paid handsomely to hide our crime. The town others may know as Nibelheim is a parody, a ghost of a truth, all for the game of public relations. A game I tire of playing. For what it is worth, Ms. Lockhart… I am sorry.”

Tifa felt relief surge through her, a mountain’s worth of tension lift that she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying anymore. 

Shoving the microphone angrily at Tseng, Rufus spun on his heel and began to walk away, despondent. Watching him, Tifa expected to feel relief. He was giving up. He’d admitted that he and his family were monsters, responsible for the deaths of so many, and he was giving up.

Dammit. If he gave up now, after showing something resembling the ability to act like a human being, it was for nothing.

No, she didn’t feel relief. She felt anger.

“You’re not forgiven!” Tifa yelled. “You can’t run away now! You can’t be a coward now!”

He whirled in a flash of white, spinning to face her, snarling loudly, “And what do you want? Money, to make it all feel better? Do you want me throw gil at you until the pain goes away? Because it won’t! How many of you want a pound of my flesh, just to get your own, and never mind the good that can be done? I can’t give you your father back. I can’t give you your town back! I can’t give you Aeris Gainsborough, the sacred cow who died for our sins! What will it take to make you forgive me, Tifa Lockhart?”

“I never will,” Tifa said. “Maybe you don’t deserve it. But if you honestly want it, the first thing you can do is not give up just because things aren’t going your way. The Rufus Shinra I knew from before, the cold, driven monster, never would’ve given up this easily. You might be better than that man now. But you have to prove it.”

Even with the distance between them, Tifa could tell he had that predator look in his eye. That way of assessing whether to strike her down now, or if the fight would be too much effort. She didn’t look away, didn’t back down. You never could with predators. Show weakness to one, and it would strike.

“You’re right, in a way,” he responded, lowering his head. “I am a monster. I will not shy away from the title.”

“Oh good,” Yuffie muttered quietly, low enough not to be caught by the microphone. “He’s back on script.”

“But I will make amends!” he continued. “As the souls of the Ancients are my witness, I will right the wrongs Shinra has committed!”

The crowd seemed to be getting caught by the flow, but some remained unconvinced, a dark rumbling making its way through them. The statement hung in the air expectantly.

“Yes,” Rufus said. “I will right those wrongs. And I will do what I must!”

“Dammit,” Yuffie hissed quietly. “It’s Cid’s line and he’s blowing it.”

Tifa looked over to the pilot, who was taking a swig from a flask. Shera came up from him, swatted him on the arm, and took it from him. He looked about to yell at her, glanced around, and realized where he was.

“How are we supposed to believe you?” Cid bellowed. 

There was a general sound of agreement from the crowd.

“If only I were more trustworthy, but I am not. I fear I will be remembered down the generations as a great trickster, bedevilling heroes and bringing blight on the honest. But as such, there is only one way I can be trusted. While I do my best to use my wealth to heal this world, I fear it is in the Planet’s best interest to place a minder over me, someone to make sure I do not abuse any power that I may accumulate in my efforts.”

The people didn’t know that Rufus already had his tendrils in the WRO, despite no actual connections to him. He’d been content for so long to just sit back and let everyone assume he was irrelevant in the new world order. Likely as a way to allow people to cool off and not react badly to anything he might do.

Had Rufus Shinra finally decided that his previous deeds were far enough in the past to act now? Or was he actually genuine in wanting to win the public trust in order to better help them?

She’d just have to trust Yuffie of all people to make sure Rufus wasn’t up to anything bad.

“But who among you could be trusted with such a responsibility?” Rufus asked the crowd.

There was a brief silence, and then someone – who sounded suspiciously like Elmyra – shouted, “Wutai!”

Other voices took up the cry, Barret’s and Cid’s chief among them. Tifa rolled her eyes at how obvious the whole thing was, but not everyone could have privileged information like she did. After a moment, Rufus lifted a hand, and the crowd went back to silence. It was amazing how effectively he controlled their reactions, even with how much they disliked him.

“And what does the fair Princess of Wutai say to this?”

Yuffie stepped forward, the spotlight shining down on her. With her kimono, her makeup and hair done subtly but perfectly, and with the full attention of everyone present, for once, she truly did look like the nobility she’d been borne into.

And then the doors to the auditorium exploded inward as Cloud kicked a pair of ninjas through them.

Panic took over as figures in black seemed to appear from everywhere, all wielding swords and brandishing shuriken. Ushers, formerly attending their stations, donned veils and drew daggers. Innocent theatre-goers sought to shrink into their seats, or flee whichever way they could in the sudden wake of impending violence.

Standing, Tifa hissed at Yuffie, “What are you doing?”

“This isn’t me!” she said. “Someone’s ruining my plan!”

Tifa did a quick scan. Cid and Cloud weren’t armed, and would have to go entirely hand-to-hand in the wake of whatever this was. Barret could change that prosthetic of his into his gun-arm, but with so many civilians and his complete inability to make precision attacks, he’d be more a liability than an asset if he opened fire. The only ones who had weapons were the Turks, and leaving the situation in their hands left Tifa with a feeling of dread.

“Girl power?” Tifa asked.

“Girl power!” Yuffie responded, drawing a handful of small shuriken from underneath her kimono.

Tifa and Yuffie always worked well together, their quick, agile fighting styles complimenting and reinforcing one another’s. Tifa kicked at the first ninja to get in her way as she leapt into the aisle. Her foot took him solidly in the side of the head, and as he fell, Yuffie slid underneath Tifa’s outstretched leg, struck the man again, and took the katana he’d been wielding. 

“Cloud!” Yuffie yelled, and then threw the weapon across the room.

Tifa didn’t see if the man caught it, as she was suddenly confronted by a pair of ninjas, one wielding a chain whip with a blade at the end – Tifa thought it was called a kusari, but she honestly believed that such a cumbersome weapon was better called ‘idiotic’ – and the other had a naginata, a Wutai version of a spear. Perfect.

Darting inside the kusari’s reach, the ninja wielding it – if anyone could actually wield such a thing – whipped it at her in an overhead swing. Tifa sidestepped it, and stomped on the chain before he could lash it backwards. The man flicked his other hand, and the opposite end flailed at her. She kicked at it, letting it wrap around her ankle. The ninja pulled as it did, hoping to knock her off balance, but she was already moving. Even as he did, she pushed off with her other foot, spinning her body up and launching herself in the air as he heaved at her. That foot took him firmly in the throat. 

She landed imperfectly, and just narrowly avoided the man with the naginata spearing her. Twisting, she avoided his stab narrowly and managed a roll away. He turned with his body to follow her, forgetting entirely that she wasn’t alone.

Two small shuriken buried themselves into one of his hand. The ninja let out a grunt of pain, turned to face his second attacker, and even as he did, Yuffie’s fist struck him in the throat. He dropped his weapon, and Tifa managed to turn, kick it into the air, catch it, and then throw it towards the stage, yelling, “Cid!”

Yuffie smirked. “Remind me why we spent so much gil on weapons during our travels when enemies just give us their stuff for free?”

“Don’t look at me. I just punch things. I don’t need giant, phallic objects to justify my use.”

Shaking the chain off her foot, Tifa scanned the room. All around smaller battles were being fought. A small group of ninjas fought sword-to-sword against Cloud near the exit. Rude was against three in the band pit, while Tseng, gun in hand, was shooting at a crowd that was slowly converging on him and Rufus. The other Turks were nowhere in sight, but likely they were handling something in the exit to the balcony.

“Okay,” Tifa said. “You get to Rufus, I’ll—”

“Rufus Shinra!” a voice bellowed over the din.

The fighting didn’t quite stop all at once, but it quieted somewhat. The ninjas, for the most part, disengaged where they could, retreating back a step and lifted their weapons defensively. Tifa glanced over at the source of the call, to the main exit, where a Wutaian man all in blue carrying a mace walked in.

“Staniv,” Yuffie growled. “I should’ve figured it’d be him. He really hates Shinra, and he’s so conservative I don’t think he even changes his underwear.”

“I will not suffer this atrocity to come to pass!” the man roared. “Lord Godo won’t challenge you, so I will on his behalf!”

Rufus seemed to assess the situation, standing straighter, and made sure to smooth his coat and brush a hand through his hair. He’d been hit in the face a few times during the fight, his lip bloodied and his eye already darkening. Apparently some of the ninjas had gotten closer than Tseng had been able to defend.

Rufus answered, “You would challenge me, acting as Godo’s champion?”

“In the old Wutaian fashion. Hand-to-hand, no weapons. Leave your Turks and your toys aside, and face me in combat!”

“Yes yes, you’re very self-righteous. But I wish to be clear. You are challenging me in Godo’s place, and acting as his champion?”

Something about the way Rufus asked the question bothered Tifa, as if he were intentionally trying to twist the wording in his favour. It wasn’t as if he could weasel out of fighting, unless…

What was it Tseng had said before?

_“The rules of the duel are clear. The challenged party may only select a champion should the challenger do so first. If Godo, in his capacity as Yuffie’s father, challenges Rufus, Rufus must fight him or withdraw his suit.”_

“Yes!” Staniv answered, sealing his fate.

“Excellent. In that case, since the challenger has a champion, I may also select one. I choose…” he seemed to think about it, glancing down at Rude, and then towards Tifa. His old smirk flashed on his face. “Tifa Lockhart.”

Tifa planted her palm to her face, sighing. “Are you really sure we need him?”

“We?” Yuffie asked. “Heck no. Rufus’ hot butt is all mine. But I kind of need it in one piece. So, uh, favour for a friend?”

She groaned in frustration. “Fine! But you owe me one!”

Staniv looked about to protest, but he stopped, realizing he was stuck. His own wording had caught him, and his honour had bound him to his course. 

Tifa did a few quick stretches, but in reality, she didn’t need to. She’d had to fight for her life enough times without a proper warm-up beforehand, and this was more habit than anything. Cloud approached her while she did, a concerned look on his features.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “I should fight him.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I can take him. Besides, it’s a martial arts fight. No swords allowed. He’d beat you up.”

Cloud gave her a bemused look, as if trying to remind her of his Jenova-Mako-Soldier-whateverness, as if that alone made him unstoppable. She shook her head.

“I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Cloud, I can fight my own battles. You’re not my bodyguard.”

He flinched away at that, looking away from her. She regretted the words as soon as she said them. She quickly apologized, but he waved it off, a sad smile on his face, as if he were realizing something for the first time.

She continued her stretching. After a minute, she approached the Wutaian samurai. The man looked angry, his eyebrows wrought together in a furious line. He purposefully tossed aside his mace, and then dropped into a fighting stance.

“You would defend this Shinra dog?” he growled. “You, of Avalanche, who fought so valiantly against him?”

“Times change,” she answered. “And so do people. Even snakes like Rufus.”

“It is just as well. I would like to kill him in battle, but such a thing would have little honour in it, despite the good that would come of it. You, Tifa Lockhart, will be a challenge. Songs will be sung of this fight.”

She shook her head. Music and fighting went together, but not in that way. Music should never glorify the fight, only bring peace afterwards. Staniv just didn’t get it.

“You’re the Weapon Master of Wutai, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, puffing out his chest.

“Just checking. When do we start?”

Staniv made a gesture, and one of his ninjas dressed in an usher uniform approached. He stood between them, acting as the referee. Roughly three paces apart from one another, Tifa and Staniv both fell into fighting stances, she in her familiar kickboxer form, he in a silly, overly formal Wutaian one, with one leg up, and both arms raised. She rolled her eyes.

The ninja barked the commencement command, and stepped back. Tifa took a single, quick step forward, and Staniv lashed out with the traditional opening kick his stance demanded. It met open air. He’d expected her to rush him, and she hadn’t covered the entire distance. His foot landed awkwardly on the ground from his missed forward snap. 

Dashing forward, Tifa gave Staniv three quick punches to the ribs, followed immediately by a somersaulting kick to the face backwards. He staggered back, dazed and bloodied, while she landed perfectly. Crouching and sweeping a leg out, she next took his feet out from under him, sending him sprawling to the floor. She took her time – a bare two seconds – before righting herself, grabbing him with both hands, and throwing him to the floor. Even as he bounced on impact, she threw a solid uppercut punch, lifting him even higher in the air, and followed it by grabbing him one-handed and throwing him once more to the ground as hard as she could.

Pain was the only noise Staniv made as he struck. Tifa landed perfectly, already focusing all of her attention and will on one final strike, slowly bringing her fist back. It was a killing strike, the complete totality of all her strength funneled to one part of her body in one perfect motion.

Somehow, Staniv managed to stand.

Tifa’s fist launched harder and faster than any bullet directly for him.

And she stopped, just short of striking him, and flicked him in the nose.

He flew backwards, landing in a crash. The blow flattened him, but didn’t kill him. She had no reason to, beyond vague annoyance that he’d forced her into a position where she’d have to defend Rufus. He’d be laid out in a hospital bed for a few weeks, barring a lot of money thrown towards Materia healing, and somehow she suspected that Godo would refuse to foot that bill.

“Weapons Master of Wutai?” Tifa said to herself. “Guess fists don’t count as weapons where you’re from.”

“Well,” Rufus said smugly, speaking into his microphone. “I guess that decides it. Once again, Shinra has triumphed over Wutai.”

Tifa face-palmed again. 

The ninjas raised their weapons once more and attacked.

 

10:47 PM

 

The fight turned into a mess from there. Barret focused on evacuating people while firing warning shots at the ceiling at any ninjas who might try to attack the fleeing civilians. Yuffie tried to appeal to her people while simultaneously fighting them, but in their eyes, they saw her as nothing but a traitor, bringing change and offering peace where neither were wanted. The Turks, arriving from whatever had delayed them on their way down, made a large difference in the face of superior numbers, but the true push for victory came when Cloud briefly retreated from the fight only to return minutes later, astride his motorcycle, a sword in each hand as he drove through the aisles of the theatre, a madman of a dervish running down his opponents wherever he could.

Tifa fought alongside Cid and Rude, and tried to get back to Yuffie, who’d rushed to defend Rufus, but was unable to reach her for the entirety of the fight. The press of numbers separated Cid from their small group, forcing him towards Barret’s location to relieve some of the pressure there, and Tifa and Rude fell into an oddly companionable silence together as they fought. She knew he had a gun, and one of those ‘mag-rods that the Turks all seemed to carry, but he relied on his fists the entire time. He didn’t sully the experience of two masters of their craft fighting alongside one another.

It felt like hours, but was more than likely only minutes long. When the last ninja fell, Tifa didn’t even bother to look before sitting down in one of the theatre seats and closing her eyes. She fell into a comfortable half-doze, not quite asleep, but tired in a way that only fighting your life could make you.

The building was empty save for Avalanche and the Turks, and Rufus and Yuffie, Tseng hovering nearby, still stood on the stage. She watched them quietly chat through half-closed eyes, and wondering if maybe, just maybe, she’d been worried about the wrong thing all along. She’d been so focused on giving Rufus any power leading to bad consequences that she’d completely forgotten the equally bad possibility of giving Yuffie access to Shinra money might bring.

“Hey,” Yuffie said, apparently forgetting she still had her mic on and sounding as tired as Tifa felt. “Let’s get married.”

“I thought we were going to do a formal proposal?” Rufus asked, sounding amused.

“Eh, screw it. I’m proposing now, you say yes, then smoochies.”

“Smoochies?” he asked, perplexed.

“That didn’t sound like a yes,” she said, her voice coming through loud and clear as annoyed.

“Hmm. I suppose I could fit you into my schedule for a marriage. Tseng, what am I doing next week?”

“Next week?” she squawked. 

“Ah, yes. Decorum. Wutaian princess, former President of a world-strangling tyrannical empire. What’s the usual wait? A year to get all the formalities out of the way?”

“Oh no. Tomorrow, you’re talking to my dad about the Treaty of Wutai. The day after, we’re getting married, or there will be stabbings and then smoochies. I am not waiting any longer than that.”

Cid guffawed from somewhere, barking, “And people say romance is dead.”

Tifa shook her head, and stood up. Listening to Rufus and Yuffie… it felt odd to her. The two had more in common than Tifa had realized, both of them being raised for a position of power and isolated from a real life, despite them being so completely different. But they seemed to fit, somehow. They’d likely kill each other in the end, but for now, they had something, a spark, and seeing it, hearing it, made Tifa feel a pit in her stomach.

She needed to get back to her house. She couldn’t let Red watch over the monsters for too long. But there was something she needed to do first.

Glancing around the room, she saw Elena and Cissnei chatting off to the side while Reno poked an unconscious ninja with his ‘mag-rod, periodically electrocuting him. Cid and Barret, now joined by Reeve, Elmyra and Shera, were having their own discussion. They seemed to purposely not looking at Tifa. She sighed.

Some part of her always knew this would be inevitable.

She spotted Cloud near the back of the theatre, standing over his motorcycle, which had taken severe damage during the fight. First, she went to the stage and spoke to Tseng, making sure to get her payment, plus extra for acting as Rufus’ champion, and then went to Cloud.

When she reached him, they both said said, “We need to talk.”

 

11:10 PM

 

The two walked the streets of Edge in the direction of the bar, though that was not their destination. They were quiet for the most part, knowing what the other wanted to say. It had been a long time coming. Maybe this was where they had always been fated to end up.

She watched the stars as she walked, trying to look anywhere but at him. He watched his feet, obviously feeling his default emotion – guilt.

They were almost to where she was headed before she finally got up the courage to speak first.

“We’re not working out, are we?”

“No,” he answered quietly. 

“It’s weird,” she said. “The furthest I ever wanted to explore when I was younger were the mountains. I loved those mountains, but I never really wanted to see what was on the other side. I never thought about it, I guess. And then you told me you were leaving Soldier, and all of a sudden, I wanted to know what was on the other side of Mount Nibel. I wanted to hear you tell me all about it, to go out and have your adventures, and then… come back.”

He grunted.

She continued, pressing on, “But you never tell me, Cloud. And even when you do, I realize… it’s not enough. I think we both need to bring the elephant in the room out. You’re in love with someone that’s not me.”

“I’m not in love with Aeris,” he said reflexively.

“Don’t be stupid. Of course you love Aeris. I loved her, too. That’s not what I’m talking about. You’re in love with yourself, Cloud, and your own pain. You hold it tighter to your own chest than you ever did me.”

He looked as if he were about to say something, to protest, but thought better of it. He nodded once, but firmly, acknowledging the point.

He opened his mouth to add something else, but they reached their destination, and Tifa raised a hand to silence him before he started. The mechanic was still working on that one motorcycle despite the hour. Quickening her pace, Tifa stepped ahead of Cloud, and moved to speak to the mechanic.

“Do you have a Fenrir model motorcycle?” she asked.

The man looked up from his work and grunted, “You again?”

“Do you have one or not?”

“Yeah, I got one in the back. Not cheap, though. You wanted to get one of those instead of the Asura?”

“No,” she said. “How much? For both?”

He named the price, and she winced. Even with the bonus Tseng had given her, she couldn’t afford it. She didn’t want to have to counter, but she said, holding out her money, “I’ll take them both for this, plus free meals and drinks at Seventh Heaven for life.”

The bar wasn’t doing well enough to give someone else that deal, especially if he abused it as much as the guy Cloud had offered that to, but she’d find a way to make it work. Somehow.

The man took her money, counted it out, and nodded, a smile on his face. Clearly he thought he’d gotten the better of the deal by far.

“You still want the bikes delivered?” he asked.

“No,” Tifa answered. “I’ll take both now.”

Nodding, the mechanic disappeared into his shop. When he did, she turned back to face Cloud.

“We need some time apart,” she said.

“Yeah. I… We’ve been at this for years, and somehow, I’m still not ready for it. I… have something to confess.”

“What?” she asked.

“I wasn’t the one who bought the tickets for the play.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“I was hired for a delivery a few days ago. I was told to go to a warehouse in Kalm, but when I got there, my contact didn’t show up. So, I went inside. The door locked behind me, and some kind of trap went off, knocking me out with gas. When I woke up, I was in that broom closet in the theatre, wearing this suit, and with a ticket in my pocket and a note with instructions.”

“What note?”

He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She read it overly quickly, but there wasn’t much, just terse hand writing with equally terse instructions.

_Show her a good time. Payment will be in the mail._

“I didn’t think of the date,” Cloud said. “I’m… I don’t think of that kind of stuff. I don’t think about you enough, even though I know I should. I had to be hired to take you out on one. You’re right, Tifa. I love you, but… this whole date was a lie. I don’t know who, or why, but…”

He trailed off when he saw Tifa all but glare at the note. 

“Elves,” she said.

 

11:40 PM

 

They went their separate ways.

Somehow, riding the motorcycle home, Tifa managed not to cry, even though she desperately wanted to. Cloud had been her life for years. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, when they’d become so completely inserted into one another’s life, but she knew it was before that fated mountain climb. 

And now, the idea of being apart from him, no matter how dysfunctional they were together, just felt so completely wrong. She needed this, she knew. She could play the part of mother for Denzel, and for Marlene, but she couldn’t do it for Cloud.

She came to a rolling stop a block away from her house and turned the motorcycle off, walking it the rest of the way. She didn’t want to wake the monsters, but most of all, there was something else she needed to do.

Setting her new acquisition by the bar, Tifa didn’t bother fiddling with her keys or the door. It’d only make too much noise. Instead, she climbed through the ground floor window, kept open to let the breeze in because of the lack of air conditioning. She wasn’t a ninja like Yuffie, but Tifa knew a little about keeping silent as she walked.

She stood in the dining area of the bar, darkness all around her, and listening. Above, she could hear the soft snoring of Red XIII, and the mumbles of Denzel as he talked in his sleep. She heard the house settle, wood creaking, and a pipe banging.

It was soft. Quiet. But she listened for the pipe again. She knew the sounds of her house, of her bar. She knew the secret ways that it rested in a way only the mother of a household or the proprietor of a business could.

Again, the pipe sounded, as if someone were gently tapping it. Below, the sound came from. The basement then. She debated the merits of walking silently down the stairs, but realized her helper had nowhere to go. There were no windows to crawl out of, no other exits. She strode down confidently.

He didn’t bother to hide, or even look guilty about what he was doing. 

Lit only by a small miner’s lamp hung from the ceiling, Rude struggled with a wrench as he tightened the valve on a new hot water tank. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses in the dim light, and his suit coat was discarded on the floor. He gave a glance upwards at her as she entered, and then motioned for her to grab the lantern so he could see what he was doing.

She was thinking about yelling at him, or kicking him out, or maybe just kicking his ass, but decided she was too tired, and she really did need that water heater. Walking over to his side, she grabbed the light and shifted its position as he worked so he could see better.

He struggled for a while, twisting at the final clamp on the pipe, panting with exertion. He looked just as tired as Tifa felt. He’d been running longer and harder than her all day, though.

When he was finished, she hung the lantern back up on the ceiling and walked to the far corner of the basement. Dark as it was, save for the patch around Rude, she couldn’t see anything, but she knew her way around. How many times had there been a power outage because the people at the hydro station weren’t as efficient as they’d been when they’d been running a Mako plant?

She found the basement cooler, opened it, and grabbed a pair of bottles, and came back to Rude, who was sitting on a stool. She handed him a beer, and opened one for herself. He nodded his head in thanks.

“I figured Tseng had you doing this all day to try to butter me up for that Rufus job,” she said. “But I can’t figure out why you’re here, with the water heater, after I’ve already done it. And why the date. Especially the date.”

Rude opened his bottle, and held it out. She clinked her bottle against his, and they both took a drink.

“He wasn’t involved,” he answered.

She waited for more, but he didn’t look particularly forthcoming. So she gave a half-hearted kick to his shin. He grunted, but not in any particular pain

“Don’t pull that quiet and silent Turk bullshit on me,” she said. “I’m tired, I want to go to bed, and I have a mystery to still get to the bottom of, so talk.”

He frowned, took another drink, seemed to think about it for a second, and then took another. Finally, he answered, “I wanted to give you a perfect day.”

She gave a quick bark of laughter at the ridiculousness of that statement. Even with all the nice things that had happened, with how it ended, with Cloud… she felt like she couldn’t breathe for a second, just thinking about it.

He was standing suddenly, blocking away the light, just a giant silhouette in front of her, and before she could register anything, he had his arms around her. She almost reflexively shoved him away, but she felt the tears flowing down her cheeks.

 

“Dammit,” she said, angry that he had to see her like this, that he, a Turk, was hugging her.

Still, she needed it. It didn’t matter who it was. She gave a strangled sob, and she let the pain out. When she was done, red-eyed, bleary, and somehow feeling like she’d let all the poison out, she mumbled, “So, was it just you? All of this?”

“No,” he said. “I funded it all, but I got Reno, Elena and Cissnei all to help out as their shifts permitted. You made our job… difficult, to say the least.”

“Did you expect anything different?” she asked, sniffing.

“No.”

“So, you really did all this? The breakfast, the lunch, having my laundry done, replacing my water heater and all my dishes, buying me tickets to Loveless, kidnapping Cloud and forcing him on a date with me, all of it, what? Just to give me a nice day?”

“And arranged to have you beat up Rufus,” he added. “Yes. One perfect day. People are always… talking. But so few listen. I watch. I listen. You needed this. So…”

“And now you’re going to try to get into my pants?” she asked. “Or up my skirt. Whatever. This is a nice dress.”

He gave a laugh. It still felt weird, hearing Rude laugh. He didn’t seem the type. 

“No. Even barring the obstacle that is Cloud Strife…”

She sniffed, and another wave of emotion almost overtook her. She nearly let it, but pushed it aside for now. 

“We broke up.”

“I know,” he said.

“How? It just happened like twenty minutes ago,” she said incredulously.

“I listen,” he said simply. “I watch. I knew as soon as you came down here.”

“Oh,” she said, not knowing what else to add.

He hugged her a little tighter, but not too much. “I’m sorry, if that’s worth anything.”

“It’s not. But… thanks all the same. You know, even with you getting me the nicest gift ever – the blood of Rufus Shinra, no one will ever beat that – you’re still not getting the girl. What’s that stupid boy expression? At best, you’re in the friend zone.”

Rude gently let his arms around her drop, put his beer down, and placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing her away. He looked down in her eyes.

“I never expected a reward. Being friends with Tifa Lockhart is as fine a thing as any man can ask for.”

Tifa felt her cheeks heat for a moment, and looked away under the scrutiny of his gaze. “Okay. You get points for that. But I still have one more question. Why was Reno wearing a Vincent Valentine costume all day long?”

“You know,” Rude answered, “I honestly have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, folks. I laugh at anyone who honestly thought I was going to shove Tifa into one particular relationship or the other. Let me tell you -- the entire time I wrote this, she made her own decisions about everything, confounding every plan I had. I owe an honest apology to Tifa -- I always swore she was one of my least favourite FF characters to write, and this fic proved otherwise.
> 
> I'd like to really thank Licoriceofallsorts for a lot of her unknowing contribution to this story. She made a really good case for Tifa with a lot of her insightful analyses into both the character and her dynamic with Cloud -- most of which I already agreed with, but hearing it so concisely from an outside source instead of the usual chaos that is inside of my brain inspired a good chunk of this fic.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated. Also, I have a book now, Red Blossoms the Sky, which can be found in my works on this site! Please read and comment!


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